


Spiked

by 28ghosts



Category: xXx (Movies), xXx: Return of Xander Cage
Genre: Drink Spiking, M/M, Mdma, Non-Consensual Drug Use, everything turns out okay i promise, spoilers for Die Hard (1988)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/28ghosts/pseuds/28ghosts
Summary: Xiang accidentally knocks back a spiked drink, and Xander looks after him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is no sexual violence in this fic, although it does have to do with drink spiking and alludes to the existence of drug-related sexual violence. There's no explicit discussion of it, however. If you'd like any more details before deciding to read, please feel free to message me on tumblr at twentyeightghosts.tumblr.com. <3

Xander is just starting to get comfortable in bed when his cell phone rings. “We have a problem,” Adele says.

Usually those four words are enough to spike Xander’s adrenaline and get him excited for whatever shit’s about to hit the fan, but something to Adele’s tone makes him think this isn’t the fun kind of problem. “What is it, did you lose Nicks?” he asks.

Talon, Nicks, Adele, Serena, Xiang and Becky are supposed to be dancing off the thrill of finishing a mission without incident. It’s not entirely out of character that in doing so, they’d manage to get into trouble. But Xander still doesn’t expect Adele to say, “This creep bought Becky a drink so she passed it off to Xiang and it looks like it was spiked.”

“Oh.”

“We only noticed when he started telling us he loved us.” Adele sounds a little bit pained. “And he tried to get Serena to dance on a table with him.”

“I’m kind of surprised she didn’t,” Xander says. “One of you take care of the creep?”

“I did,” Adele says. “Becky helped.”

“Good,” Xander says. “What do you need?”

“Just be ready for a wriggly super-secret agent rolling on molly to be on your yacht,” Adele says.

Xander sits up in bed, feeling the stretch down his back. “It’s not my yacht. It’s our yacht. The Triple-X yacht.” Legally, it’s definitely not their yacht. But it’s pretty likely her original owner hasn’t noticed she’s missing, and Xander and Tennyson did a pretty dope job repainting her. So, yeah, it’s their yacht in the ways that matter.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Cage,” Adele says, and she hangs up.

-

Xander meets them at the end of the dock. Xiang has one arm thrown over Serena’s shoulders. He’s swaying on his feet and smiling eerily wide. Serena looks like if she can’t decide to be unsettled or angry or what.

Before Xander can even say hello, Becky cuts in. “Based on onset time and his physical symptoms, including dilated pupils, raise in body temperature and elevated mood, I think he’s on MDMA. He’s overheating, and he really, really needs some water. Like, a lot of water, maybe. If he was dehydrated going into this, like -- yeah, what I said. He needs water.”

“Please take care of him,” Serena says, shoving Xiang towards Xander.

“Why me?” Xander protests, but he doesn’t mean it.

Xiang braces catches himself on Xander’s shoulder and stares him dead in the eyes. Even in low light, his pupils are obviously blown. “Don’t harsh my _vibe_ , Xander,” he says. Xiang’s accent comes out thicker when he’s drunk, and now Xander knows it comes out thicker when he’s on molly, too.

“Okay, buddy,” Xander says. “No harsh vibes. Only good vibes tonight.”

“Good vibes,” Xiang repeats. He somehow grins wider, and then he throws his arms around Xander’s shoulders for a hug. “You are a good friend, Xander.”

Xiang is shorter than Xander, and so Xander can see over Xiang’s shoulder that Adele is taking a picture of them. Xander throws up his middle fingers before the flash goes off. Adele laughs. “Classic,” she says.

“Please send that to me,” Serena says. “He’ll never live this down.”

“Oh, don’t worry. This is going in the group message,” Adele says.

Becky shifts from foot to foot, expression kind of pained. “You guys, I don’t mean to nag, but he really, really needs to drink some water.”

-

Despite Adele’s jokes as they haul Xiang down the dock and onto the yacht, pretty much everyone looks worried once Xiang’s sat down in the kitchenette. With more light, Xiang’s blown pupils look eerie, and when Becky manages to get Xiang’s leather jacket off, his white t-shirt is soaked with sweat. Hawk emerges from his quarters with chewing gum, which is apparently supposed to help keep Xiang from grinding his jaw so much.

“I’ve done ecstasy before,” Xiang says, trying to wave all of them off. “Stop worrying.”

Serena takes Xiang’s jacket from Becky and folds it over the back of another chair. “You know, I actually did not know that about you.”

Xiang opens his mouth to retort, then tilts his head back to stare at the light instead.

Hawk tosses the gum to Xander. “I did DMT with him once. He’ll be fine.”

“DMT!” Xiang proclaims to the ceiling. “That was good.”

“Don’t get him started on poppers,” Hawk says, and leaves.

-

Xiang consents to drinking one glass of water and then gets petulant. “I’m not thirsty. It’s fine. Go back to dancing.”

Xander is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Becky trying to get Xiang to take the refilled glass. “Dehydration is the most common way people get hurt when they’re on MDMA. Don’t be an idiot, just drink it,” she says.

It’s not like any member of Triple-X isn’t stubborn. Only the bull-headed are capable of acquiring the sort of unique skillset that Gibbons seeks out. Becky might be Triple-X mainly by association, but right now she’s proving she’s just as stubborn as the rest of them. Xiang tries to knock the glass of water out of her hand, and she smacks the inside of his wrist.

“I’m serious, Xiang.”

Xander can’t help but laugh a little. He’s proud of Becky holding her ground, but he’s also pretty sure that with Xiang in his current state, a different strategy might work better. “Look,” he says. “If you drink that water, I’ll put on _Die Hard_.”

Xiang chugs the entire glass of water in about ten seconds. Xander most definitely does not watch the way Xiang’s throat bobs.

“Xander Cage, you are a genius,” Adele says. “I wouldn’t have taken Xiang for a Bruce Willis fanboy. Guess that shows me.”

“You know, he’s seen _Die Hard_ like a hundred times,” Serena says to Adele. “He can quote it word for word. It’s very annoying.”

Sometimes Xander thinks Serena joined up with the rest of them just so she’d have somebody to complain to about Xiang.

-

Xiang wanders off to Xander’s room on his own, trailing his fingers down the narrow wooden halls of the yacht and talking to himself.

“I have to say, turning a stone-faced killer like Xiang into silly putty? The immorality of spiking a drink aside, this is the most convincing advert for molly I’ve ever seen,” Adele says.

Becky nods. “It can be a very therapeutic and engaging drug when taken under ideal circumstances. The first time I took MDMA was in 2010 at this concert in Madison Square Garden and Daft Punk showed up as a surprise and it was like my whole body was a speaker and flashing lights. Ohmygod, it. Was. Incredible.”

Xander doesn’t think Xiang’s really that stone-faced. Doesn’t matter, though. “Becky, if he’s had enough water, will he probably be fine?”

“Try to get him to chew some gum to help with grinding his jaw, and just make sure he doesn’t overheat. Normally when someone’s on something like MDMA or LSD or psilocybin, you can use a benzo to take the edge off or kill the trip entirely, but I’m not confident advising that, sir, because we don’t know for a fact there isn’t something else that he’s on, too.”

Becky only calls him ‘sir’ when she’s really nervous. Xander pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Like rohypnol,” he guesses.

“Yes, sir. Like rohypnol.”

“Damn,” Adele says.

“That makes sense,” Serena adds. “If the drink was spiked and intended for Becky, then…”

“Like I said,” Becky says. “Wouldn’t advise adding benzos to the mix.”

“Damn,” Xander says. “So how long is this gonna last?”

Becky inhales sharply. She’s looking at some spot just over Xander’s shoulder instead of right at him. “He’s peaking right now, so he’ll be like this I don’t know how long, it depends on the dose -- maybe an hour, maybe three hours, it’s hard to tell. If the comedown gets ugly, like, put on some of his favorite music, I don’t know what that is, Serena, do you know--”

“Becky.” Xander grabs her by the shoulders. “First of all, this isn’t your fault. Second, you did a great job looking after him. Third, don’t worry. I got this.”

“You got this? You mean you know what his favorite music is?”

Xander does. Xiang listens to terrible ‘80s C-pop and German techno, nothing else. “That’s not what I meant, Becky. I meant I got this. He’s gonna be fine. You and Adele and Serena go back to partying. Make sure Nicks and Talon don’t get lost. That’s an order.”

Becky closes her eyes and takes a few deep, loud breaths. She’s better at not-panicking than she used to be. One of these days, Xander might even trust her in a firefight. “Okay, got it. Mission keep-Xander-Cage’s-boyfriend-from-dying-’cause-he-drank-a-spiked-drink-meant-for-me accomplished, now go party.”

Adele snorts.

Xander doesn’t think about Becky calling Xiang his boyfriend because the rest of Triple-X has been calling Xiang his boyfriend since long before they actually started fucking. Besides, of course she feels guilty. The drink was meant for her, and it’s only Xiang’s willingness to throw down any drink that looks strong enough that’s kept her from being the one needing care. So he claps her shoulders and says, “Damn right.”

“Also, by the way, one more thing,” Becky says, as Xander’s walking away, “he’s probably, like, _super_ hypersensitive to touch right now. Just thought I’d warn you.”

-

Xander’s quarters in the yacht aren’t really that spacious, but there’s room enough for a giant bed and a giant TV. No one’s tried to needle him into sharing quarters. Adele, Serena, and Becky all sleep in one room together. The other men of the team have some sort of rotating schedule between the third bedroom and the living room, which has two really nice couches. And sometimes Xiang disappears to come sleep with Xander, and either no one’s noticed or everyone’s a little too nervous to bring it up.

Not that it’s stopped anyone from calling them boyfriends. It was Adele who started it, after Xander charged through a burning wall to faster reach Xiang, who was trapped without backup between most of a paramilitary squad and, well, fire. “Fine, fine, hurry to get to your boyfriend,” Adele had scowled over Xander’s in-ear mic. “Ignore the plan that _you_ came up with. Got a date night after this?”

Xander had been too distracted to tell her to shut up, and Adele had, unfortunately, taken that as carte blanche to continue with the teasing. Xander had expected Xiang to protest, but he never did.

Xiang is splayed out face down on Xander’s bed. Xander has another glass of water in one hand and Hawk’s chewing gum in the other. He sets them both down on the nightstand and grabs the remote and powers on the wall-mounted TV. Becky has them set up with some extremely illegal streaming thing that’s way better than Netflix. Xander doesn’t understand how it works, but he doesn’t need to, either. He searches for _Die Hard_ and hits play.

Xiang doesn’t so much as lift his head when the audio kicks in.

Usually when they’re in bed together, it’s either before, having, or after sex. If it’s before or during, they’re usually on top of each other, or in the process of trying to get on top of each other, given that they both enjoy grappling for the privilege of topping. They sleep with six inches of space between them. Sometimes they wind up with someone’s arm across the other’s chest. Whatever. It’s not a big thing.

This time, when Xander tries to edge against Xiang to get enough room to sit against the headboard, Xiang does not get out of his way so that they can both lie on the bed sensibly. Xiang rolls immediately into Xander’s lap and rolls his head against Xander’s chest.

“You are gonna have such a hangover tomorrow,” is the only thing Xander can think to say.

Xiang whacks one hand against Xander’s chest. His movements are jerky and uncontrolled. It’s eerie. Xiang never seems uncontrolled. “Whatever,” Xiang says.

Xiang doesn’t seem inclined to say anymore. He’s staring absently at the ceiling, body contorted across the bed in a way that’s probably only comfortable for people just as flexible as Xiang. Xander notices that Xiang is still wearing his boots.

Xander gets up and takes Xiang’s boots off for him, then his socks. Xiang doesn’t react. He lies still as a corpse. Xander kind of shoves Xiang’s body across the bed so he can sit next to Xiang instead of serving as Xiang’s pillow, and Xander watches _Die Hard_.

It takes about five minutes for Xiang to end up sprawled over his lap again. Xander sighs and grabs under Xiang’s arms and, with effort, hauls the smaller man up to lean half against the headboard, half against Xander’s chest. He’s surprised by the pleased, punched-out sound he gets from Xiang in return, something in between a gasp and a moan.

All things considered, it’s not turning out to be the worst evening Xander’s ever had. Touching while they’re not having sex isn’t really something Xander and Xiang do much, but, hey, Xander could get used to it. Usually when they’ve spent this much time touching without sex, it’s because one of them is unconscious and being bodily hauled to safety. Which, hey, is never enjoyable.

Xander isn’t sure if what he’s feeling is regret, and if it’s regret, he’s not sure what it is that he regrets.

Even in the cool of the room and without his leather jacket, Xiang is still sweating. His chest heaves with every breath, and he keeps twitching like he’s having a nightmare. On the TV, John McClane is yanking the Nakatomi Plaza fire alarm. Which gives Xander an idea. He pushes against Xiang’s back so he’s sitting up. “You, my man, should take a shower,” he says.

“I’m fine,” Xiang says.

“I know you’re fine,” Xander lies. “You should shower anyways. You’re sweaty.”

“Fine, fine,” Xiang says. “Fine.”

Xander ends up having to turn the shower on for Xiang, who’s rolling too hard to do anything besides skim his fingers over the glass lining the shower stall. He makes sure the water is running cool before leaving to give Xiang some privacy. Not that there’s any part of Xiang he hasn’t both seen and probably also either bruised or bitten, but if Xander was the one all fucked up on E he’d kinda want to shower in peace. He watches _Die Hard_ until McClane runs into Hans on the rooftop, and then he goes in and turns the shower off. Xiang looks a little bit more like himself, but he lets Xander help him dry off.

“Good shower?” Xander asks.

Xiang is wide-eyed and nearly radiating pleasure. He rubs his hands over his arms and nods. “I feel good,” he says plainly.

Xander has never really fucked with drugs, improbably. It surprises people when he turns down a blunt or a bump of coke. He’s a daredevil, yeah, that doesn’t extend to shit like drugs. He’s got the confidence to take the risks he does, the confidence to _stunt_ , because he knows he’s in perfect control of himself. He knows every inch of his body. He knows the way that, despite training, his left knee still buckles under less torque than his right; he knows the exact angles that send his rotator cuffs screaming. He knows, so he avoids them.

But watching Xiang wide-eyed and smiling at nothing, well, it’s not that Xander gets the appeal. But at least now he gets where the name “ecstasy” comes from.

It freaks him out, though. Normally he just gets a glimpse of Xiang undone, and usually that’s during sex. This is like getting to stare at him in that one unbridled moment but for hours of a time. It feels like too much. Too intimate, too raw.

(But of course it should feel wrong. Xiang got dosed. He didn’t ask for this.)

He gets Xiang to put on one of the pairs of sweatpants he’d left in Xander’s room and convinces him to come back to bed. Xander sits with his back up against the headboard and sprawls his thighs open in invitation; Xiang happily settles with his back to Xander’s chest. His head lolls against Xander’s shoulder. Xander wraps his arms around Xiang’s waist and pulls Xiang flush against him, huffing in amusement at Xiang’s reaction: a sigh that tapers off into a quiet moan.

When Becky said hypersensitive to touch, she apparently meant it.

“How are you feelin’?” Xander asks.

Xiang shifts against him. “Never better.”

-

When _Die Hard_ ends, Xander just kind of...puts it on again. The remote’s within reach, so Xander doesn’t have to make Xiang get up. And Xiang’s too far gone to really care. Xiang will go silent for a few minutes at a time, then tell some story about doing MDMA with some pop star’s backing band and narrowly avoiding an orgy.

“Why would you ever avoid an orgy?” Xander teases.

Xiang shifts against him and laughs. “Okay, maybe if you were there, I would consider it.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for Valentine’s Day. Cheaper than flowers.”

Xiang shifts so his palms are braced on Xander’s knees, and he goes silent for a few minutes to just feel Xander’s skin. Xander watches John McClane realize that his wife has been taken hostage, and he leans his head against Xiang’s a little bit.

-

Two-thirds through their second viewing of _Die Hard_ , Xiang says, “It’s starting to wear off.”

John McClane is pulling glass out of his feet.

“Good,” Xander says into the back of Xiang’s neck. Despite himself, he’s close to nodding off. He’s accepted the fact that he finds the warmth and weight of Xiang’s body _nice_ , and if he didn’t have _Die Hard_ committed to memory before this, he does now.

“I kept forgetting I was on something, then remembering. I’m remembering all the time now.”

He has the impulse to kiss the side of Xiang’s neck, so he does. Just once, The way Xiang sighs convinces him to do it twice. The way Xiang arcs his back a little convinces him a third time.

Xiang twists in his arms and then Xiang is straddling Xander’s wide-spread thighs, pressing his mouth against Xander’s mouth. The kisses they trade are easy and languid. Yeah, there’s heat building up Xander’s spine, but that’s always the case when he’s touching Xiang. He’s got no desire to act on it, not while Xiang’s still rolling.

It’s also unlike anything he’s ever done with Xiang before. This whole night has been unlike anything he’s ever done with Xiang before, really. Him and Xiang are so alike that sometimes being with Xiang feels like masturbation. Like the filthiest form of wish fulfillment imaginable. Like they’re both racing each other towards getting off. They’re never tender with each other. They’re only patient when they’re trying to make the other _beg_. This right now, though -- this is tender, and this is patient. Xiang rubs his hands up and down Xiang’s bare lower back, and Xiang sighs through his nose before breaking away to breathe in. His breath is hot on Xander’s face.

Xander noses at Xiang’s jaw, and Xiang accommodatingly drops his head back so Xander can mouth at his throat.

“Oh,” Xiang says, fingers digging into Xander’s shoulders. “Oh.”

It’s easy to roll Xiang onto his back, and Xander laughs at Xiang’s expression: first surprised, then mock-betrayed, mock-angry, but with amusement shining through clear as a signal flare. Xander wonders how on earth Adele manages to find Xiang stoic when Xiang can show all these emotions at once with just a look. While Xander is thinking, Xiang does something complicated and somehow knocks Xander onto his back, and then there’s Xander dizzy under Xiang not for the first time, not for the last.

“You _must_ be feeling better,” Xander says, teasing. “Earlier tonight you could barely walk by yourself.”

Xiang grins back at him. Xiang’s grin is always cocky, always shows all of his top row of teeth and a little bit of pink gum. “Who could blame me? Party drugs, Xander.”

“You know Hawk told us you did DMT once,” Xander says.

“He’s not wrong,” Xiang said. “Once, only once. It was in a casino in Las Vegas. I would not recommend it.”

Xander laughs at that, hard enough he tips his head back, spine arcing. Xiang’s fingertips trace Xander’s throat, then skip down to the ribbed collar of his t-shirt, resting against the base of his neck. And then Xiang’s touch has drifted to just under the angle of Xander’s jawbone, right at the pulse point. And Xander settles back against the mattress to see Xiang, wearing nothing but sweatpants, straddling him, eyes closed. It’s like Xander’s aware for the first time of the thrum of his pulse through his carotid artery.

“Do you know my given name?” Xiang asks, eyes still closed.

“No,” Xander says.

“Xiang is my family name.”

Xiang has shifted to cradling the side of Xander’s neck with one hand. Xander covers the back of Xiang’s hand with his own. “I’d figured,” he says.

“My full name is--”

Xander interrupts, “Tell me in the morning.” He strokes his thumb over Xiang’s knuckles, “If you still want to.”

Xiang’s eyes drift open like he’s just now waking up. He stares down at Xander for a moment. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, and then he’s rolling off Xander to lie on his side, a few inches of distance between them. “You’re a good man, Xander Cage,” he says.

“Well,” Xander says, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Quiet for awhile. Xander closes his eyes and focuses on the gentle pitch back and forth of the yacht. He’s goddamned tired. He wonders what time it is. His internal clock doesn’t work so well when he’s been skipping time zones. If he had to guess, he’d guess it was three or four in the morning.

He’s only roused by the faint feel of the yacht rocking a little too much, then the sound of voices from the deck. Nicks and the rest of them, by the sound of it.

Xander gets up and powers off the TV and turns off the bathroom light. He lies back down in bed and pulls the comforter over both of them. He settles on his side, facing Xiang. Xiang is still breathing a little too deeply, too quickly, Xander compensating by breathing a little too slowly.

It takes Xander too long to fall asleep. Usually he falls asleep within minutes. But something feels off.

He shifts where he’s lying so that there’s just an inch between him and Xiang. And he feels Xiang’s sigh against his neck. Xiang closes the distance between them, tucking his head under Xander’s chin, throwing an arm over Xander’s waist, and that’s how Xander falls asleep.

-

Xander wakes to the sense of Xiang disentangling himself from Xander and sitting up. Xander opens one eye. Even in the dark, it’s easy to see the hard planes of Xiang’s traps flexing as he stretches.

“What _happened_ last night?” Xiang asks.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Bits and pieces,” Xiang says. “All of the mission, at least.” The muscles of his back shift again, and Xander shifts his head on the pillow to get a better view. Xiang is pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “A party.”

“You drank somethin’ that was meant for Becky. Turns out it was spiked. MDMA, she thinks, and by the state of your memory, maybe rohypnol, too.”

Xiang bends nearly in half to stretch, tucking his forehead towards his knees, and groans. “MDMA,” he says, voice muffled. “Really.”

The silence that settles isn’t the normal sort of silence that settles around Xander and Xiang. This silence is pained, awkward, unbalanced -- both of them waiting to see how Xiang will process things.

After a few moments, Xander offers, “Becky feels pretty bad.”

Xiang grunts and pushes himself back upright. His back is squared to Xander from this angle, so Xander doesn’t know what Xiang is staring at. “Serena was worried it was spiked,” Xiang says slowly. Trying to piece through his drug-impaired memories of the whole night, Xander figures. “She will be pleased she was right.”

Xander rolls onto his back. The yacht is tossing gently. It feels a little bit like vertigo. “No, man, everyone was pretty worried. You were real out of it, and it took ‘em a little bit to figure out what was up.”

“What happened exactly, after I got back?”

Xiang’s voice is flinty. Xander wonders what it costs Xiang to ask a question like that. Xiang’s proud in the same way Xander is, and, fuck, the whole reason Xander barely drinks is ‘cause he blacked out once at 16 and spent a week and a half terrified he’d done something embarrassing. Xiang may have none of Xander’s restraint when it comes to alcohol, but Xiang also handles his liquor well, better than Xander ever did. He’s controlled when he’s drunk. The kinda guy who you can’t even really tell how drunk he is. His accent getting stronger is the only giveaway, and that’s only if you’re looking for it.

“Nothing exciting. We watched _Die Hard_. You took a shower and told me about doing MDMA in the ‘80s with a bunch of musicians.” Xiang doesn’t seem to react. “You handled it better than I would have,” Xander adds.

That earns him a little sigh of relief. “Can I shower here?”

Xiang usually stays with Talon and Hawk, when he’s not with Xander. Xander doesn’t know the _details_ of how that bed/bathroom sharing situation works and has never asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Xander says.

He absolutely does not push himself up a little bit so he can watch Xiang’s ass as Xiang gets out of bed and heads towards the bathroom.

Xiang takes a long time in the shower, but Xander doesn’t fall back asleep. He’s tired, and the room is dark, and the bed smells like Xiang, so he should be able to sleep. But he doesn’t. Instead he stares at the ceiling, thinking about what to do with the information acquired during the last mission. They’re tracking a U.S. government official with ties to weapon trafficking. They’re close to figuring out who it is, but not close enough. And the longer they take to figure out who it is, the more rocket launchers and grenades and machine guns end up in the wrong hands. And there’s no one else in the world who can bust this guy. It’s on them. It’s not hard to remember why he retired, mornings like this. It’s a lot of pressure. But it’s easy to remember why he came out of retirement, too.

He hears the shower cut off. It’s not long before he hears the bathroom door creak open, too. He sits up and sees Xiang in the doorway, wearing the same sweatpants he slept in, towel hanging over his shoulders. “I need to borrow a shirt,” he says.

“Yeah, you sweated straight through yours last night,” Xander says. The light in the bathroom is still on, and Xiang is backlit, so Xander can’t read his expression. “How are you feelin’?”

“Been better,” Xiang says.

“I got ibuprofen around here somewhere if you got a headache.”

Xiang shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Bet you feel like hell,” Xander says.

Xiang doesn’t come any closer. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed against his chest. His hair is lying flat against his head, wet and with none of the strong-smelling gel that Xiang favors to make it stick up. “I’ve felt worse,” he says evenly.

Xander should be glad that Xiang’s awake and moving around and perfectly fine, right? He should be relieved that Xiang didn’t stroke out or have a heart attack during the night, or whatever it is that happens when people get their drinks spiked. He shouldn’t be feeling uneasy at having Xiang stare at him from across the room. He shouldn’t want Xiang back in bed with him.

Thing is, Xander might be stubborn, but he’s stubborn in the ten-more-reps kinda way. He’s stubborn in the no-trespassing-signs-are-just-a-suggestion kind of way. In the I’ll-take-down-the-entire-DEA-if-I-gotta kind of way. Not in the lie-to-himself-because-of-pride kind of way. 

He knows he’s gonna do what he can when it comes to Xiang. Because he likes Xiang. He likes Xiang a lot.

He lies back down and goes back to staring at the ceiling. “If you come back to bed, I’ll try to tell you everything that happened,” he says. “You weren’t _that_ talkative, so I can’t tell you what was goin’ on inside _your_ head. But I’ll make an effort on everything else. That sound good?”

He hears the soft pad of Xiang’s feet on the floor, then feels the dip of the mattress when Xiang sits.

No answer, but at least Xiang’s not gone. “Where should I start?” Xander asks.

“The beginning,” Xiang says.

“The beginning,” Xander repeats. “So I’m in the Dominican Republic after faking my death--”

Xiang swats at his ankle. “The beginning of last night,” he says. He sounds annoyed but amused, too. Good.

“Okay, okay. You should have been more specific, not my fault.”

Xiang’s hand hasn’t moved from Xander’s ankle. It just kind of rests there.

“I got a call around midnight from Adele saying you drank something somebody bought for Becky, and then you started actin’ all weird. So they brought you back and made you drink a bunch of water ‘cause Becky figured the drink had ecstasy in it, and I guess that makes people dehydrated. And then I sent them back to the party ‘cause Nicks and Talon were still there. I think Adele took a picture of you hugging me, so, uh, be on the lookout for that. We watched _Die Hard _twice. You told me a bunch of stories about living in Hong Kong.”__

__In the half-light of early morning, it occurs to Xander that it was the most Xiang had ever disclosed about his past at all, ever. That maybe he should have stopped Xiang from sharing so much, since he’d been so messed up. Just like he’d stopped Xiang from sharing his given name._ _

__“I remember parts,” Xiang says. “I remember the taking Becky’s drink. I remember the bartender not giving me any more shots.”_ _

__“Well, good for them,” Xander says. “I’m sure you feel like shit already, I’m glad you haven’t got the alcohol hangover on top of everything else.”_ _

__Xander squeezes Xander’s ankle. “Thank you,” he says._ _

__And then he steals one of Xander’s t-shirts and leaves._ _

__Xander forces his eyes closed and waits for sleep. It doesn’t come. He keeps waiting, though. Holding still and resting your eyes is better rest than fidgeting. He’s spent entire nights like this before, worried for his safety. Surely he can outlast this sudden fit of restlessness; surely sleep will come._ _

__Even with his eyes closed, he can tell the room is getting lighter. He hears quiet conversation from the kitchen, muffled by the wooden walls, and he hears the body of the boat shift as other members of the team wake up. He hears another boat’s engine revving up. The gentle rocking of the waves is no longer comforting. He waits for a little while longer before getting up._ _

__He feels like the walls are closing in on him, which is an uncomfortable feeling even when you’re not on a boat. He needs to go do something, stretch his legs, get his heart beating. He finds his swim trunks and manages to get to the deck of the yacht without running into anyone. He looks around. There’s a couple people on the far end of the dock, people he doesn’t recognize. He shields his eyes against the morning sun and squints at a beach in the distance. He strips his shirt off and drops it. He takes a few steps back, then runs up to the edge of the boat and jumps. He executes a perfect dive under the clear surface of the Ionian Sea._ _

__Xander has always liked swimming. He likes the way it narrows his concentration. He focuses on the rhythm of his strokes and kicks, tilting his head up for air and, every few minutes, to adjust his course. The tide is stronger than he’d anticipated, but it’s not too much trouble. It’s not long before the beach he’s been aiming for is close enough that the waters calm._ _

__He slows down and feels for the sea floor beneath his feet. Once he finds it, he walks the rest of the way towards the shore. The water shifts from cold to cool to warm. Once he’s out of the water, he turns around to stare out at the horizon._ _

__It’s early, but there’s still a couple tourists on the beach, laying out towels, slathering on sunscreen. They ignore Xander as he stands on the wet sand, facing the sea. He waits until the morning sun and stiff breeze have dried most of the water off his body. Then he turns and walks inland until he finds a shady spot under a tree. He lays down and closes his eyes, listening to the surf crash. If there’s an emergency, his team will manage to find him. For now, his swim has exhausted him enough that his mind is perfectly clear and his body willing to let him rest._ _

__He sleeps lightly for an hour or so. He wakes to the sound of someone sitting next to him. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Xiang. No one else could sneak up on him like that, even when he’s sleeping._ _

__“I brought you breakfast,” Xiang says._ _

__And of course Xiang knows he’s awake, too, just based on the subtle shift in his breathing. Xander can’t help smiling. “What’s the occasion?”_ _

__He hears the crinkle of Xiang setting a plastic bag down onto the grass. “I need an occasion?” he asks, mock-offended._ _

__Xiang sounds better. Less hungover. Good._ _

__“I guess not,” Xander says. “Lucky me.” He pushes himself up onto his elbows and slowly opens his eyes. The sun glinting off the water makes him wince._ _

__The styrofoam take-out container that Xiang’s brought him has a pile of cold crepes and a container of yogurt drizzled over with honey. There’s plastic cutlery in the plastic bag, one of those sets with a fork and knife and spoon and napkin, and Xander grunts in satisfaction. He’s hungrier than he thought he was._ _

__“I brought coffee, too,” Xiang says. “It might be lukewarm.”_ _

__He finally turns to look at Xiang, sitting cross-legged just a few feet away. He’s wearing sunglasses and a clean pair of lightwash jeans and Xander’s black t-shirt. The shirt is too big on him, but Xiang’s broad-shouldered and muscular enough that it looks fashionable. He holds out the paper cup of coffee, one eyebrow quirked up._ _

__Xander wants to say, God, I love you. The impulse catches him by surprise, enough that he can’t think of anything clever to say. He settles for, “Thanks.”_ _

__The coffee is lukewarm, but it’s good. He eats quickly, staring at the water._ _

__“This is good,” Xander says. “You go out for breakfast with who, Nicks and Adele?”_ _

__“And Tennyson,” Xiang says. “The others were too hungover.”_ _

__“Adele is basically hangover-proof. I don’t know how she does it.”_ _

__“I remember more now,” Xiang says._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__Xiang nods. He leans in to swipe his index finger through the leftover sugar in the styrofoam container, then sucks the sugar off. It’s gotta be deliberate, the way his cheeks hollow. Xander stares at him. Xiang’s still got his sunglasses on, but he’s pretty sure Xiang’s staring back anyways._ _

__“I was going to tell you my name,” Xiang says. “You stopped me.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Xander says._ _

__He reaches out for Xiang and grabs the sleeve of Xiang’s t-shirt. Well, Xander’s t-shirt, but Xiang’s wearing it. And he tugs._ _

__Xiang slips his sunglasses up his forehead, so finally Xander can see his eyes. He looks wary. Maybe a little embarrassed. Xander tugs again._ _

__Xiang shifts closer, closer, closer until Xander can wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer still. Until Xiang’s head is resting against his chest, their legs pressed against each other. Xander sighs as Xiang settles against him. Yeah, this is what he wanted. This is what he’s wanted for awhile._ _

__“Didn’t feel right,” Xander says, “for you to mention somethin’ as personal as your full name when you were all messed up. It isn’t that I wouldn’t like to know, if you’d like to tell me.”_ _

__Xiang tells him._ _

**Author's Note:**

> References and sources:  
> \- [Erowid MDMA experiences vault](https://www.erowid.org/experiences/subs/exp_MDMA.shtml)  
> \- [Erowid page on MDMA hangovers](https://erowid.org/chemicals/mdma/mdma_effects_hangover1.shtml%20)  
> \- I picture Triple-X's stolen yacht as looking like either [this](http://www.yachtworld.com/boats/2002/Grand-Banks-64-Aleutian-RP-2923750/Charlottenlund/Denmark#.WK3yyDsrK00%20) or [this](http://www.yachtworld.com/boats/2016/Princess-72-Motor-Yacht-3023834/Naples/FL/United-States#.WK3pzDsrK00)  
> \- The thing with Xiang's "first"/given name was inspired by [this exchange on Tumblr](http://evocating.tumblr.com/post/157429127594/xiangs-name-actually-appeared-in-xxxs-chinese)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading <3


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